Good Enough
by RoseFyre
Summary: The final battle, in moments.


Lights flashed – all colors, all shades – as the battle raged.

Minerva McGonagall ignored the scenery, ignored the lights, ignored the other figures (bodies) surrounding her.

She concentrated on one thing and one thing only: surviving.

She cut down one enemy, only to see another take his place. She tripped over a rock and lost her balance – only for a second, but in war, that's all it takes.

As she fell to the ground, everything went black. 'I'm sorry,' she thought. 'I just wasn't good enough.'

**oOo**

When she saw what the battlefield really looked like, she questioned her decision to come to this place. The others all thought she was crazy – why would anyone, even a well-meaning ex-Hufflepuff newly-minted Mediwitch, _choose_ battlefield healing?

Especially since the war would be ending soon. After all, the Muggle war was finished, at least in Europe (apparently there was still fighting in Asia, but she really didn't know all that much about it), and the Dark Lord didn't have much support left.

Poppy Pomfrey, though, was not one to back away from a challenge. No, she wasn't a Gryffindor, but people needed healing, and if she could do it, she would.

And so, after a moment to get accustomed to the sights around her, she squared her shoulders and walked out into the field, armed only with her wand, her bag of potions, and her knowledge of healing.

**oOo**

When Minerva woke up, she was shocked. Hit by a cutting curse – she shouldn't have survived. And feeling this good? Didn't make sense.

But she did, so she looked around. A young woman – no more than five years older than herself – placed potions in a bag, one designed to hold them without breaking or spilling. An older woman – perhaps 80 or 90, about the same age as Professor Dumbledore – stood guard, wand out.

The younger woman looked vaguely familiar. "Do I know you?"

"Poppy Pomfrey, Hufflepuff, 1940." She took her wand out and performed some sort of diagnostic spell on Minerva. Minerva vaguely recognized it from the time Walburga Black hexed her after Gryffindor won the Quidditch cup her third year. "You were on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, though I can't remember your name – or position, for that matter."

"Minerva McGonagall, Gryffindor, 1943 – and I was a Chaser." She looked at the older woman. "You?"

"Nell. Ravenclaw…and a lady never discusses her age." She glanced around. "It seems to be clear at the moment, though we should move soon." Though she moved closer to the others, she still stood apart, leaving the younger women a bit of privacy.

"Thank you for healing me," Minerva said, sitting up gingerly and not feeling all that bad when she did.

Poppy blushed. "Nell had the potion – I'd used all mine up."

Nell scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. I had the potion, but potions aren't enough, and healing spells are not my forte. Poppy's the one who healed you, and she did a very good job."

Poppy blushed an even brighter red. "I was just doing my job. I've just finished Mediwitch training, and I thought I should help. Everyone said I was crazy, coming to a battlefield, but I couldn't stay away."

"You did the right thing," Minerva said, slowly rising to her feet. "If you hadn't, I'd be dead."

Nell looked around again. "Time to move?" The others nodded. "Minerva and I can stand guard so you're not attacked while you're working. You've been lucky so far, Poppy, but luck isn't something you should depend on."

"Good idea," Minerva agreed.

**oOo**

The three women moved around the battlefield, healing those they could and laying to rest those they couldn't. Poppy healed, Minerva guarded, and Nell created portkeys to take their patients to St. Mungo's.

They slowly became aware that the noises were fading, that their patients were fewer and farther apart – and that most of those were either dead or too gone to save.

And suddenly, Minerva gasped, as a blazing white light shone, an expanding sphere of splendor centered on a little cottage not 100 yards from them. She exchanged one short glance with the others, then began to run for the building, Poppy and Nell close behind her.

All three stopped together right in front of the door, and exchanged another glance. Then, together, they reached forward and opened the door.

Inside lay the bodies of two men – alive or dead, they couldn't tell. On the left lay an older man, with gray and white hair and black and red robes. On the right was a younger man, with auburn hair and multicolored robes. Poppy ran left, Minerva ran right, and Nell stood in shock in the doorway.

"This one's dead," Poppy said, after a moment of examining him. She closed his eyes, then joined Minerva.

"Professor Dumbledore's alive," Minerva said, "but I don't think he's doing that well."

Poppy performed a diagnostic charm. "No. He's not. And there's nothing I can do. I'm not certain there's anything _anyone_ could do." She sounded half frustrated, half weepy.

"Fawkes!" Nell called, breaking out of her shock. "Fawkes!"

She was answered by a trill coming from the bedroom, and then the phoenix flew to join them.

"Can you do anything?"

Fawkes shook his head mournfully, trilling sadly.

"His breath's slowing down," Minerva whispered. She couldn't speak any louder.

Fawkes plucked on Nell's sleeve, then looked pointedly at Albus. She cocked her head, then nodded. "Yes, Nick would agree," she said, so quietly that neither of the others heard her. She reached for the front clasp of her potions belt, but didn't undo it. Instead, she pressed her thumb into the center and said the password – fool's gold – and caught the tiny vial that fell out as the secret compartment opened.

She approached Albus carefully, coming around until she knelt at his head. She opened his mouth and dripped one, two, three drops of the sparkling red liquid – the color of blood, but not the same texture – into his mouth.

As Albus's wounds began to heal, Poppy performed more diagnostic charms, and a few to aid his healing.

Minerva looked at Nell, then at the vial she held. Her eyes narrowed as she saw its color, and its effect. "Is that…" she trailed off, not knowing how to ask.

Just then, Albus's eyes opened, and Fawkes trilled once more. "Miss Pomfrey, Miss McGonagall, Fawkes." He tilted his head up. "Perenelle. You shouldn't have."

She shook her head. "Of course I should have, Albus." He lifted an eyebrow. "Nick would kill me if I let you die before you find the twelfth use of dragons' blood."

He grinned. "He would, at that." He looked at Poppy. "Will I live, my dear?"

She wiped tears from her eyes. "You will, Professor. But don't scare us like that again!"

"I'll try not to, Miss Pomfrey. Or is it Mediwitch, now?"

"Mediwitch. I finished my training last week."

"Well, thank you, Mediwitch Pomfrey. And Miss McGonagall, of course."

Nell pouted. "What, I don't get a thanks?"

"And you, Perenelle."

Minerva couldn't take it any longer. "Is that the Elixir of Life? Because I've only ever heard of one potion being that color and consistency, and Professor Dumbledore's calling you Perenelle, which is the name of Nicholas Flamel's wife, and you refused to say what year you graduated from Hogwarts."

Nell shrugged. "Albus is the only one who calls me Perenelle, but yes, I am Perenelle Flamel. I didn't think you'd believe me if I said I'd finished Hogwarts in 1351, though."

Poppy grinned. "Probably not."

Minerva shook her head ruefully. "No, probably not."

**oOo**

The four people talked, about the war, about the Muggle war, about the world outside of the war. The women helped Albus to sit, leaning against a wall, and they moved the body – Grindlewald – away and covered it with a sheet.

He looked up at Nell. "I have a favor to ask of you and Nicholas."

"Oh?"

"There's a girl, in the bedroom – a squib. Grindlewald killed her parents, and was planning on torturing her."

"What's her name?"

"Arabella Figg."

"We'll take her in."

"Thank you."

As Minerva conjured a stretcher and Poppy placed Albus on it, Nell went into the bedroom and picked up Arabella, who looked to be 7 or 8 and deeply asleep – probably through the use of magic. She then turned the stretcher into a portkey, to bring their whole group to St. Mungo's, where they could get Albus healed and summon the Minister for Magic.

They gathered around the stretcher, Fawkes perching atop Albus, and waited for the portkey to activate.

'Well,' Minerva thought, 'I'm alive. And maybe…maybe we actually were good enough. Maybe something has changed, and the world will be better.'

And as the portkey activated, she hoped for a better future, and vowed to fight again if they hadn't, in fact, succeeded.

**oOo**

**Author's Note: **Originally written in 2007 for Springtime Gen, not compliant with DH.


End file.
